


bring your curses home

by facingthenorthwind (spacegandalf), let_it_be_extraordinary



Series: Imperio 'Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Epistolary, Genderqueer Character, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, Judaism, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), M/M, Multi, Neo-Death Eaters, Newspapers, Non-Binary Neville Longbottom, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, jewish law, the war on drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegandalf/pseuds/facingthenorthwind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/let_it_be_extraordinary/pseuds/let_it_be_extraordinary
Summary: Anthony Goldstein, Ministry Prosecutor, has to prosecute a case involving neo-Death Eaters and the Imperius Curse ten years after the war ends. There's something more to it, though, and he can't get the Auror division to investigate -- so he's going to have to take it into his own hands.





	1. The Ministry Prosecution Service

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings to be heeded: there is no sexual violence in this story but because of the nature of some mind control stuff, the parallels to rape and how rape cases are prosecuted are pretty blatant. If thinly veiled allegories are going to trigger you, please stay safe and maybe do not read this. Suicide/assisted suicide/medical abuse is briefly mentioned but only once and only by name, not in detail; it doesn’t happen to any of the characters in the story. Also, there’s some lines used to defend Voldy that are pretty much identical to lines used to defend Hitler. Anthony doesn’t experience any antisemitism but the general community paranoia is still very much present in this fic.
> 
> MOBILE USERS: it might work best if you turn off creator style, because the newspaper article might go wonky on mobile. Sorry!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daily Prophet: HARRY POTTER LEAVES AUROR OFFICE (13 April 1999)  
> Daily Prophet: NORMAN BELLINGER APPOINTED HEAD OF NEW MINISTRY PROSECUTION SERVICE (25 October 1999)
> 
> In which Anthony gets a new case, has a panic attack, and discovers that something strange is going on -- and it goes deeper than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note -- 'shnat' is a structured gap year/training program in Israel that Jewish youth movement kids take after they graduate from high school. In this universe, it's much the same, except it's most Jewish wizards, and they learn wandless magic there.

* * *

**Daily Prophet: 13 April 1999**  
---  
  
  
  


**Harry Potter Leaves Auror Office**

Harry Potter, who defeated Lord Voldemort to end the Second Wizarding War, has left the Auror Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after less than a year. He, along with several of his classmates including Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom, were accepted into the Auror Office without their NEWTs. The Auror Office has largely been focussed on capturing former Death Eaters to bring them to justice, as well as restoring order in wizarding society.  
  
None of Potter’s peers could be reached for comment, but Head Auror Calliope Proudfoot issued a statement: "Although Potter is a valuable asset and a talented Auror, he deserves a break and if he decides to return, his job will remain available to him."  
  
Rumours that he quit over disagreements about the treatment of Death Eaters cannot be confirmed.  
  
* * *  
  
* * *

**Daily Prophet: 25 October 1999**  
---  
  
  
  


**Norman Bellinger Appointed Head of New Ministry Prosecution Service**

The Ministry have created a new “Prosecution Service” a year after the International Confederation of Wizards’ Report recommended a separation of powers between Aurors and the prosecutors who oversee trials. Norman Bellinger, previously senior in the Canadian Ministry’s Department of Public Prosecutions, was chosen to head it, despite rumours that the new head would come out of the Wizengamot Administration Service. Bellinger, who grew up in Leeds, moved to Canada in 1958.  
  
When asked for comment, the Minister’s Office said, “We wanted someone who was familiar with Britain and British Magical Law, but we also felt like a breath of fresh air was needed. Bellinger is an opportunity to inject some new blood into the Ministry.” Bellinger is seventy years old, throwing into question the Ministry’s definition of “new blood”, but the Prophet has confirmed he has no ties to either side of the War.  
  
The Ministry Prosecution Service is expected to alleviate the bottleneck of the Wizengamot Administration Service, which is running over a year behind since the end of the War.   
  
* * *  
  
 

The work at the Ministry Prosecution Service was rarely predictable, but the people were: on Mondays, Anthony could expect Sassoon to be slightly hungover, Hackett even snippier than usual, and Bellinger to take his sweet time handing out new cases. Bellinger's main characteristic (as seemed to be the case with all Ministry Division Heads) was _old_ — the kind of old where you were pretty sure he’d always been alive, that he had decided to work in government centuries ago and the bureaucracy had been built around him. Behind his back, a favoured adjective by the rest of the Ministry Prosecutors (or ‘minnies’ as they liked to call themselves) was ‘grizzled’.

On this Monday, Hackett had tripped Anthony on the way into the office (he didn't believe for a second that it was an accident), the windows near the lift had malfunctioned and were showing a view of London but all the colours were in negative, and the milk at home had gone off, leaving Anthony no choice but to eat burnt toast for breakfast. He was taking solace in the beautiful milky mug of tea he had in his hands when Bellinger finally arrived.

Bellinger strode into the conference room with his usual sneer and a stack of case folders and began to distribute them. Some days his mouth would twitch at the corners slightly as he handed over a case, foreboding a particularly grim job. Usually a “crime of passion” or something involving an animal. Thankfully, today Anthony couldn’t tell from his boss’ face what kind of case he would get, which was probably a good sign.

"Zhang, you're on assault-and-battery-by-charmed-object case, an old lady's purse beat the living hell out of someone she claims is her mugger and he's suing for assault, saying she dropped it." This was delivered in an almost monotone, but Anthony could definitely hear some slight derision in his voice over the old woman’s claims. He dropped the folder on the desk in front of Zhang instead of handing it to her. “Sassoon, a present from Misuse of Muggle Artefacts — that guy who sold trousers that would get an inch smaller in the waist and leg every time they came in contact with water. You’re working with Rutherford; he should get in from Germany this afternoon. Kaur, Hackett, you've got an assisted suicide, a healer is being charged by the family of one of his patients." Anthony saw Kaur’s face crease in concern, but Hackett just had her resting ‘I have smelt something awful and it’s the fault of one of you’ face. Before he could catch Kaur’s eye to communicate some sympathy, Bellinger appeared before him.

"Goldstein, you're on another my-boyfriend-made-me-do-it tattoo case, should be fun.” He raised his eyebrow and Anthony swallowed, feeling uneasy. He had worked in this office for seven years (five as a trainee and two as a fully fledged solicitor) and in that time had learned to read the miniscule flashes of emotion that Bellinger would let slip. In the past, a raised eyebrow has lead him down winding rabbit holes that ended in anything from multiple life sentences to terrifyingly slight slaps on the wrist. He did not trust that eyebrow. 

Anthony watched Bellinger slink away and ran his hand over the gold-embossed, navy blue folder, steeling himself. Usually, my-boyfriend-made-me-do-it cases involved threats or physical violence, so Anthony wasn’t expecting Sassoon, who worked at the desk next to his, to actually _chuckle_ . “The last one of these we got was a woman who claimed her boyfriend Imperiused her to get her to agree to a hyper realistic dick tattooed on her forehead. No one's judgment is that bad, so we had no problem convincing the Wizengamot he was guilty.”

Anthony was taken aback at the casual mention of the Imperius Curse, but managed to recover enough to say, “Imperius?”

“Well, yeah. Granted, he was sentenced to life in Azkaban since it’s an Unforgivable, so this kind of thing doesn’t happen often, but you’ve seen the odd Imperius case, haven’t you? That one must have been before your time,” he finished smugly.

Anthony chose not to respond, opening the folder instead. Sassoon was, he’d guess, about ten years his senior and never seemed to miss an opportunity to flaunt his superiority. The office had only been _created_ two years before Anthony had joined, so Sassoon was full of shit. At least once a week he found an excuse to lord the fact that he’d been working in ministry law enforcement since before Anthony owned a wand, as though the precursor to the Ministry Prosecution Service wasn’t ineffectual and corrupt.

The first page was a standard Magical Law Enforcement report. Anthony would read it, of course, but he flicked past it to see if there was a photo of the tattoo — perhaps it would be similarly hilarious to dick-on-face. Perhaps—

He must have knocked his mug off the table, because it shattered, splashing tea all over his shoes, though he didn’t hear it hit the ground. He must have stood up abruptly, reaching, panicked, into his robes for the wand he hadn’t carried since he learnt wandless magic on _shnat_ during his gap year in Israel. The world narrowed down, Anthony heard a roaring in his ears and a Dark Mark glared up at him from the photograph. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and he spun around, hands raised to defend Hogwarts, until — until the person standing in front of him was Kaur, and she was holding her hands out, her robes’ sleeves pushed up to reveal brown arms completely free of tattoos. She didn’t have a Dark Mark; she wasn’t a Death Eater. Hogwarts was safe. His friends were safe.

“Goldstein. _Goldstein_. You’re in the Ministry. You’re in the Prosecution Service, you’re a minnie now, it’s 2008. It’s okay, you’re safe.” Kaur’s voice was calm and quiet and comforting, and Anthony concentrated on her instead of everything around him. Her turban was hot pink today, matching the necklace she had over her black robes, and the colour was so bright and so unlike anything in Hogwarts that year with the Carrows that Anthony clung to it like a life raft.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding not quite like his — his body didn’t quite feel like his either. 

“Hey, no, it’s okay, I promise. Sassoon, can you stop standing there and clean up the mug, please? Before someone steps on it and hurts themself?” Kaur turned her attention back to Anthony as she directed him to sit down. Sassoon had been standing, his chair knocked over as if he had been in a hurry but got stuck, but waved his hand to repair the mug, pieces zooming back together with a clink. Anthony remembered the swoop of his stomach when he went to reach for his wand that wasn’t there; neither he nor Sassoon carried a wand, since it was technically forbidden by Jewish law, and diaspora Jews learnt wandless magic after they graduated school. His wand had sat in a drawer since 2000, but in the moment it had been 1997 and he had felt naked and defenceless.

“I’m usually — I can look at Dark Marks, usually,” Anthony said, unable to look her in the face. “I usually know they’re coming though, and I don’t know, I was just caught off guard, and—”

“You’re okay. Do you want to swap with me and work with Hackett? I don’t think assisted suicide is going to be cheery, it’s probably going to be utterly brutal, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be Death Eaters involved. Nothing about the War.”

Anthony looked in the direction of Bellinger’s office and shook his head. Bellinger’s assignments were set in stone, and he was sure he would be fine, now that he knew Death Eaters were involved. He was no stranger to the remnants of Voldemort’s followers that remained — he still occasionally met up with the DA for some fash bashing, and back during his trainee days, most of the MPS’s work had to do with Death Eaters.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He let out a sharp breath. “Thanks for — for what you just did.” He wasn’t sure what else to say — he felt there _should_ be something else, but as he began to feel like his body belonged to him again, he began to also be more aware of the fact that he’d just made an utter fool of himself in front of the entire office. 

“I’ll get you another tea. Builder’s?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Anthony said, unable to refuse Kaur’s relentless kindness. He looked down at the file to see the Dark Mark again. It wasn’t quite as he remembered it from the arms of the Carrows; this one was black as if it had just been used to summon Voldemort, and the snake was solid, unlike the patterned one in real Dark Marks. The snake in the photograph moved, looking threateningly at the camera, even though the real ones had been static. He didn’t know what was more disturbing: the idea that the differences were because they had never seen a real one, or that they thought they were “improving” it.

Flicking back to the MLE report, he finally read what the case was about: a woman claimed that her boyfriend had Imperiused her into getting a Dark Mark tattoo. After some prodding, she admitted that the choice of tattoo wasn’t just a case of an abusive boyfriend marking her with something illegal and inflammatory, but that both of them had been involved in some kind of neo-Death Eater group, though the report indicated they had no ties to known Death Eaters. 

The Death Eater sympathies had automatically transferred it to the Auror division, and apart from the initial complaint, the rest of the file was handled by some Auror named Hudnall. He would definitely need to get more information about the group, as well as do his own interviews about how the woman was willing to testify and possibly get contacts for other witnesses, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the Imperius element. She had been cagey about the pureblood supremacy stuff, but her story about the Imperius Curse had remained the same.

The final recommendation from the Aurors had requested that Bellinger run the case; Anthony had no idea whether Bellinger knew and hadn’t mentioned it so that Anthony wouldn’t realise the gravity of the case or if he had only skimmed the first page of the file. They both seemed equally likely.

Kaur came by with his newly-repaired mug (it had “Yiddishe Cup” on it; he had no idea where his mother found it), and he smiled at her before standing up. “Thanks, Kaur, I’m just going to the archives.” Instead of looking Kaur in the face and facing the inevitable kindness mixed with pity, Anthony grabbed his parchment, a refillable quill, and his mug and walked past the MLE office and the Auror division to the end of the corridor to get to the archives, just past the Wizengamot Administration Services. 

It was an enormous room full of narrow shelving, thankfully with a map near the door. He knew vaguely what he wanted — records of past cases — but didn’t have any idea of the specifics. First he searched for “Knights of Walpurgis”, the name of the group, but all that came up was that it was an early name for the Death Eaters themselves. Next he searched for the Imperius Curse, and was glad he had magic: doing this by hand would be all but impossible. As it was, he ended up covering two of the three small tables in files, discarding any during the wars. Death Eaters controlling people for their own ends during the wars seemed routine; _anyone_ doing it outside of wartime — whether it was jealous boyfriends or wannabe neo-Death Eaters — spooked Anthony in a way he couldn’t quite articulate yet, not even to himself. 

He began to sift through cases looking for _something_ that would justify his gut feeling of wrongness and was rewarded with an uptick in cases in the last few years. They were always by people with no Death Eater ties, and it never had to do with serious attempts to overthrow society or harm Muggles. Half of them were horrible, stupid pranks where one party made the other commit a crime and had no defence other than they were just ‘mucking around’. A quarter were business corruption or issues with inheritance. 

The last quarter, however, were much stranger and didn’t make sense to Anthony: in multiple cases with little else to connect them, the defence always claimed that the victim had consented to the curse beforehand. In what were some very surreal court transcripts, Anthony read that the argument then became _what_ the victim had consented to before the Imperius was cast, even though the very fact that Imperius was cast in the first place was a compulsory life sentence. Those cases had only happened since the end of the First War, although there were far more in the last decade than the previous one. Imperius hadn’t _changed_ — so why were these crimes so new? Why didn’t they have records of similar things going back to 1717?

He was immersed in the transcripts for one of these weird cases when Kaur came in, walking loudly and coming into his line of sight before speaking, as if he were some wild animal she shouldn’t startle.

“Goldstein? It’s five o’clock — don’t stay here too much longer, alright?”

He had no idea where the time had gone; she was saying he’d been in the archives for _hours_. He...did feel a bit hungry, now that she mentioned it. “Yeah,” he said, leaning back and rubbing his eyes. He went to take a sip of tea but it was stone cold and he grimaced.

“And — you’ve got someone at home, right?” Kaur said.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, you’re not going to go back to an empty flat and just stew in what happened, are you? You’ve got someone to pull you out of your head?”

He had Zacharias, but him working nights and Anthony working during the day meant they rarely saw each other. The queer gang was meeting that night, though — he hadn’t even been to the last few, but perhaps Kaur was right, perhaps he shouldn’t be alone with his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’ll — I’ll meet some mates at the pub. Thanks, Kaur,” he said, hoping she could tell how much he meant it. 

“No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow, Goldstein.” She offered him another smile and seemed to raise her arms as if to go in for a hug, but stopped herself. Anthony felt disappointed; he was sure she would give excellent hugs. 

“See you,” he said, nodding, and she left. He wrote down all the case numbers he hadn’t yet looked at and, with a flick of his wrist, sent them all back to the stacks.


	2. Hudnall

* * *

**The Quibbler: 4 February 2008**  
---  
  
  
  


**You-Know-Who Sighted Working In Muggle Fast Food Restaurant**

You-Know-Who, also known as the Dark Lord, was sighted working in a muggle establishment called "McDonalds" in Essex. Attempts to interview him were unsuccessful. This is the fifth time in as many years that Voldemort has been sighted, prompting some experts to propose that the spike in sightings could be related to some surge in dark magic in Great Britain.  
  
The Quibbler was able to speak with Charissa Mudgley, who reported the sighting. “I saw him plain as day,” she said. “The lack of a nose was pretty unmistakable, although the McDonalds uniform threw me off at first. It’s just the last place you would expect him, you know? He was pretty famous for not liking Muggles, and here he is, making food for them.”  
  
It is unclear whether You-Know-Who’s choice of employment is an indication of a change of heart for the previously violently Wizard-supremacist Dark Lord, but it could mean a brighter future for us all.  
  
_Have you seen You-Know-Who? Send in your sightings to The Quibbler._  
  
* * *  
  
* * *

As usual, Anthony's pile of chips was significantly smaller once everyone else had pillaged it while he was eating his fish. Despite how exhausted he was and how his friends always stole his chips instead of buying their own, he was glad he'd come to the Polished Wand. The Floo Fighters were playing over the speakers, but not too loudly that he couldn't comfortably hear the conversations happening around their large table. He could hear them, but he wasn't terribly interested in contributing, since his brain still felt wrung out and empty of words. 

“Anthony, you've been quiet, you alright?” Neville said. Here, now, in a queer pub, ten years since the War, they no longer felt like Neville the DA Leader. Nor did they feel like Professor Longbottom the Herbology teacher. They were just a mate asking over a pint. It helped the war feel less immediate than it had done that morning. 

“Yeah, I've just had a rough day, I made a fool of myself and—” He stopped, unwilling to bring everyone back to the war. They’d _won,_ they were free, they were sitting in a pub and they all had jobs and some of them had healthy steady relationships and everyone had _moved on_. Except that there was a neo-Death Eater group using Imperius and ten years seemed like no time at all. 

Neville frowned and said, “I’m sorry, I know making a fool of yourself feels awful — I’ve done it plenty, and when I do it, it’s in front of twenty children, but at least they move on at the end of the year, so I can’t imagine what it’s like knowing the people who witnessed it are still around after June, I— this isn’t the right thing to say, is it.”

Anthony glanced around them — at their friends who, mercifully, weren’t paying too much attention to them; at the patrons, laughing over drinks without the constant guarded expressions you couldn’t escape during the war; at the pub itself, looking like they hadn’t even had to rebuild it after that attack in ‘96. “No, it’s — it’s not even the making a fool of myself, it’s — I got a case today where a witch was put under the Imperius Curse.”

“Oh God, I didn’t even realise that still happened, weren’t they all cleared up years ago?” 

“No, no, it’s a new case. She contacted the MLE within hours of the curse being lifted, says she was only under it for a day or so, and they caught the guy that did it but...well, she’s in a safehouse now, I think, with an Auror guard.”

“Aurors? Why are they involved?” Neville had sat up a little straighter, leant forward a little, and Anthony glanced around again nervously. There were no rules about talking about current cases for him (not like there were for Aurors), but he felt an itchiness under his skin that reminded him of Seventh Year. Neville frowned for a moment and copied Anthony’s glances before whispering, _“Muffliato.”_

“Thanks,” Anthony said. “I know it’s silly, but I just — anyway, there are Aurors involved because there are neo-Death Eaters involved.” Neville’s eyes widened, but Anthony could see them falling into old patterns of not showing how much they were panicking so that others wouldn’t follow. Unfortunately for them both, he supposed, it wouldn’t help here.

“Did she hurt anyone?” Neville asked. Despite the Muffliato, they had leant further across the table. 

“No,” Anthony replied, shaking his head. “The Imperius was because she wasn’t as committed to the cause as her boyfriend, and while she was under they gave her a Dark Mark tattoo — not a real Dark Mark, obviously, it doesn’t even look identical, but...” 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Not panicking and not stewing in this were both failing spectacularly. “But I think this is the first time a Death Eater-aligned Imperius case has happened since the Death Eater Trials wrapped up. The Aurors are taking it seriously, of course, but I’ve been looking into the archives and — God, I don’t even know, the thought of people using the Imperius Curse is just so...it’s terrifying and everyone else seems to be totally calm about it. And even if this is just some edgy dickhead abusing his girlfriend, I’ve got to prosecute this, which is going to be awful.” 

He took a large gulp of beer to try to chase away the cold tightness in his chest as he thought of Seventh Year detentions, being under the Imperius Curse and forced to hurt your friends. He had felt almost like he was watching someone else do it, horrified but unable to stop himself.

Neville nodded sympathetically. “If you need anything, let me know? Obviously I won’t always be able to see you in person, but you can owl me any time. I’ll send you the list of standard spells we used to use, just in case, and I’ll have a look for any other you might find useful, maybe I’ll ask Dennis if he can think of anything.”

“Thanks, Nev. Hopefully it’s all overkill, but I won’t lie, I’d sleep better, you know? It’s weird to hear you talk about Dennis though. Professor Creevey. Makes me feel old.”

“I know what you mean, but imagine how McGonagall must feel. Though she must be used to it by now — Professor Lupin was one of her students too.”

“True, I wouldn’t want to be her, either.” 

Before Anthony could say anything else, a napkin floated between them, cut to form the word “OI”. Neville looked in the direction the napkin had come from and hastily waved their wand to end the Muffliato.

“Sorry,” they said to the rest of the table, which Anthony echoed.

“Talk about antisocial,” said Ernie, shaking his head and taking the opportunity to steal Anthony’s last chip.

"You don’t call, you don’t write, and then the first time I see you in three months you spend the entire time talking dirty to Longbottom? I’ve heard both of your attempts at dirty talk and let me tell you, not worth putting Muffliato on for."

Anthony blushed even though Justin was blatantly wrong on _all_ counts — it had only been a month, for one, and he’d written to Justin twice in that time (both Ministry memos that only contained Celestina Warbeck lyrics), and most importantly to the best of his knowledge, Justin had heard neither his nor Neville’s attempts at dirty talk. 

“Fuck off,” he said, but he was aware it looked unconvincing with his red face. He glanced at Neville, who shook their head slightly. Anthony could save face by telling them what they had actually been discussing but he agreed with Neville — he didn’t want to tell them. Not because he didn’t trust them, but because….well, because they had forgotten how to be afraid, and he didn’t want to remind them. They had all been children forged in war, but now when Neville fell back on old DA habits, they assumed it was for lewd purposes. Anthony didn’t like being the butt of the joke, but he liked that the joke was being made because it meant that only his world was falling apart, not everyone else’s.

Instead of ruining that, Anthony joined in talking shit for two more beers before people began making noises about going home, given it was a work day tomorrow. As they were gathering their things, Neville put their hand on Anthony's arm and said, “Anth, do you want me to see if Harry wants to help?”

“Harry? Why would I want Harry?”

“Because...he was, you know, he was the DA leader, and he defeated Voldemort?” Neville said, as if they hadn’t played an instrumental part by destroying the last Horcrux. (Anthony had always thought the media hadn’t paid enough attention to that, and barely mentioned the DA, but Neville had brushed it off and claimed they didn’t want the attention anyway. Justin had said something about the ‘media narrative’ being simpler without Neville and the DA and Anthony had thrown a napkin at his head before admitting he was probably right. But that was years ago, now, and there had been the odd piece about the DA in magazines like _Wizarding Britain_. Anthony was never mentioned by name, of course, but he kept them in a box anyway.)

“Nev, I know he was off doing important stuff in Seventh Year, but you were our DA leader. You were in the shit with us and you kept us together and I reckon you might have more expertise anyway. Besides, he doesn’t even come to DA meetings anymore, I don’t want to drag him back.” Neville was pink by the time Anthony had finished, and he hadn’t intended to embarrass them, only tell the truth, so he gave them a hug instead of waiting for an answer and Apparated back to his flat. If the war hadn’t receded any, at least he had Neville by his side again.

* * *

The next day, Anthony got a coffee and a pastry from Kowalski’s Muggle Style Baked Goods to thank Kaur, and made a beeline for her desk as soon as he came in. 

“Thanks for yesterday,” he said, presenting her with the coffee. “I know that you'd probably rather be doing paid labour instead of emotional labour, so you know, I got you a coffee to make up for it? And a Kowalski’s pastry, because we could all use more Kowalski’s.”

Kaur smiled and shook her head. “Goldstein, it really wasn’t a big deal. Obviously doing the emotional labour while Sassoon stands there like a wet fish isn’t ideal, but half the time when one of us is falling apart, you’re the one who does the comforting. It’s not like Bellend-ger’s going to do it.”

Anthony reflexively looked around at the use of the name, but they were safe. “He’d have to have a heart for that.”

“True,” Kaur said and took a long sip of coffee. “Thanks, Goldstein. Take care of yourself, don’t do anything stupid to prove yourself to him, okay?”

“I will,” Anthony said and went back to his desk. He wasn’t looking forward to starting the day: as well as the Dark Mark case, he had several dreary cases that all hinged on technicalities that he was not looking forward to arguing before the Wizengamot. How they’d made it as far as his desk he had no idea, but they were his problem now.

As he sat down to his desk, Sassoon came over and, hands in his pockets and looking anywhere but Anthony’s face, said, “Do you need me to take the tattoo case, or are you right? Bellinger was a dickhead yesterday not to warn you about it.” 

Anthony had never seen this level of human decency from Sassoon, and he just blinked for a moment before saying, “No, thank you though, but I’m good. Now that I’ve been warned about it I’m alright, I think.”

“Good.” Sassoon made to go back to his desk but turned and said, “I don’t know if you’ve seen the paper today but there’s a photo of the Carrows on page six. Just, uh, if you needed to know.” He sat down at his desk and went to work without waiting for a reply, and Anthony wondered if he’d stepped into some kind of alternate dimension. What was that?

He forced himself to work on his backlog of minor cases before even looking at the Dark Mark file again: a third offence for misuse of Muggle artefacts that had been sent to Prosecutions because it was no longer in the realm of minor fines, instead escalating to prison time; a possible breach of the Statute of Secrecy (though the witnesses had been Obliviated); an unlicensed Runespoor breeder. 

Organising the hearing times and sending out notices took all morning and it was only after lunch that he could sit down and go through the cases he had found in the stacks the day before. He didn’t find anything useful — except for the consent thing, he couldn’t find any connections, and before long he gave up and went back to the case he was actually supposed to be prosecuting.

He was partway through rereading the MLE report when an interdepartmental memo fluttered onto his desk, coming to a stop right over the page he had been looking at. Unlike normal purple interdepartmental memos, it was orange, signifying it was from the Ministry Post Office. When he unfolded the paper aeroplane, it said:

incoming external post for anthony goldstein: 1 letter(s), 1 package(s). please collect at post office on level one.

He frowned — he wasn’t expecting any packages — but took the lift down to Level One. Like all post offices, the Ministry Post Office had an unreasonably long line no matter what time of day you went, and Anthony thought he should have brought a book. He finally got to the front and gave his name to the tired-looking woman behind the counter, who went to the honeycomb-like wall of pigeon holes and returned with a small package that had an envelope tucked underneath the string securing it. The envelope had his name on it in Neville’s disastrous scrawl. He waited until he was at his desk to open it, but he fiddled with the string on the package the whole way back.

Anthony,

Enclosed is our old list of standard defensive spells, wards and procedures. I’ve also sent you some potions ingredients and recipes to strengthen the wards — they’re not complicated potions, even I can do them, but they’ll give an extra layer of security. I’d recommend doing your flat and maybe think about where else you spend your time. If you stay over at someone else’s on a regular basis, think about doing theirs too. 

Hopefully this is all overkill, but once someone knows you’re involved in this case, you might be targeted. Is it still standard procedure for Aurors to guard the prosecutors involved in Death Eater cases or did that end when the Death Eater Trials did?

Dennis doesn’t have anything to add to the list but he does say hi. 

I’m sorry we’re going to be restricted to owls for the next month or so at least — exams are coming up, and students are anxious, so I don’t want to leave in case they need me, you know? Most of them don’t have anything to worry about though, my OWL class in particular is turning out some really spectacular work, I’m so proud of them. 

I’ve given a few of my more anxious Firsties little cuttings of driftmint plants to keep by their beds. The scent calms them down and I’ve found some of them enjoy the accomplishment of keeping something alive. The Fifth and Seventh Years are a little less predictable in their plant care but there’s a flutterby bush outside the greenhouses that they can go to any time, so I just tell them to do that. 

Let me know if anything changes or if you make progress — only a month and a bit and then it’s summer holidays, so once exams are over I’ll happily be your sounding board.

Be safe — if you need help, I’m sure Hermione could give you a hand with the wards.

Neville 

The package contained several small vials labelled in handwriting Anthony didn’t recognise, three bunches of herbs and several pages of spells and potions. Neville had written out their old list on a fresh piece of parchment, marking the ones they thought Anthony should prioritise. (That was probably for the best — from memory, the original list had been bled on more than once.)

He was not looking forward to the conversation he would have to have with Zacharias about the new wards. The only thing Zacharias hated more than living through the war was talking about the war — at least, talking about it with Anthony. 

Putting the package in his bag, he went back to the MLE report he was halfway through reading.

AUROR HUDNALL: Has Roger ever used the Imperius Curse on you before, to your knowledge?  
  
NETTLE: Not like that before, no.  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: Not like that? What do you mean?  
  
NETTLE: [INDISTINCT]  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: Sorry, could you repeat that?  
  
NETTLE: Well, he — sometimes I would let him cast Imperius on me  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: Why?  
  
NETTLE: Because — have you ever been under the Imperius Curse?  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: No.  
  
NETTLE: It’s — you feel really happy, really calm, like nothing can worry you, you know? It’s impossible to worry about anything. And following directions when you’re under it — it’s just like it’s second nature, like you’ve already done it before you have a chance to think about it.  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: What did he make you do under the Imperius Curse?  
  
NETTLE: Oh, nothing big — silly things, like doing a cartwheel or singing “Do the Hippogriff” or something.  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: Were you aware, afterwards, of what you had done under the Curse?  
  
NETTLE: I think so? The memories feel kind of hazy, like a dream, but I never did anything I couldn’t remember. Or I mean, there was no evidence I did?  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: How many times did Roger cast the Imperius Curse on you?  
  
NETTLE: I’m not sure — maybe a dozen times?  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: And you’re aware that casting the Imperius Curse for any reason is grounds for life imprisonment in Azkaban?  
  
NETTLE: Yes, but I mean — it wasn’t hurting anyone! It wasn’t malicious, he asked first. I mean, not this time, with the tattoo, but all the other times he did.  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: Did you ever cast the Imperius Curse on anyone?  
  
NETTLE: No.  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: Not even on Roger?  
  
NETTLE: No, he — he said I wasn’t powerful enough, that there was no point in trying. It’s a powerful spell, you’ve got to — if you don’t do it right, you can send a person mad. At least, that’s what he said. Like — wasn’t there some bloke who went mad from it?  
  
AUROR HUDNALL: How did he know he could do it correctly? Do you know of anyone else he cast it on?  
  
NETTLE: No, I — I never asked. He might have? I’m sorry, I just — I never thought to ask.  


Anthony knew from other evidence in the file that Roger Braithwaite’s wand had been examined and showed that he had tattooed Althea Nettle while she was under the Imperius Curse. He knew that previous judgements he’d read yesterday had concluded that it was impossible to consent to illegal activity while under the Imperius Curse, willingly or not. Public display of Death Eater tattoos — any Death Eater or pro-Voldemort imagery — was illegal. He had few doubts about Braithwaite going to Azkaban. And yet — he still found himself collecting the casefiles he had read the day before and knocking on the door of the Auror Division.

“Could I speak to Auror Hudnall?” he asked the frowning man who opened the door. 

“Third cubicle on the left,” he said, and he thanked him as he walked over, ducking to avoid the memos flying across the enormous room. 

Hudnall’s cubicle had the usual personal effects — a family photo taken at some tropical beach, a child’s drawing of a man holding a wand (presumably Hudnall?) and a Thundelarra Thunderers poster — as well as various news articles and notes pinned to the walls of the cubicle. The man in question was a stocky man with an enormous bald patch and a weathered face, though Anthony would have estimated he couldn’t be over forty.

“What can I do for you?” Hudnall said in a broad Australian accent as Anthony placed his stack of files on the corner of Hudnall’s desk.

“I’m Anthony Goldstein from the Prosecution Service — I’ve got the Braithwaite case.”

Hudnall frowned. “Any problems? I would have thought the charges were fairly straightforward, given the wand evidence.”

“No, it’s actually about something Althea Nettle said in an interview — she said she voluntarily let herself be placed under the Imperius Curse, and I’ve been looking through some past cases and I think there’s...it doesn’t make sense. I couldn’t find a single case before 1981, but there are at least half a dozen in the last decade that involve people supposedly consenting to Imperius, and I’d never heard of it before I went looking. Was there ever an inquiry?”

“Into what? The law doesn’t say anything about consent, it’s the Imperius Curse itself that’s a crime.”

“I know, but — where are they getting the idea? Do we need to implement better public awareness campaigns of the dangers?”

“Has anyone been killed?”

“...No.”

“Has anyone been grievously injured?”

“Not...that I know of, no.”

“Did we imprison the casters of the Curse?”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m afraid I don’t see what your problem is. We can’t look into every little thing.”

Anthony opened his mouth to protest, to articulate _why_ it was so horrifying that the Imperius Curse was being used for recreation, but he didn’t know what to say, so he closed it. From his cubicle and his accent, Anthony would guess that Hudnall was part of the post-War recruitment drive that brought foreign Aurors into the Ministry to deal with the severe shortages caused by most of the Auror Division being corrupt or dead. 

Some had left once the Death Eater Trials had finished or new recruits had qualified, but others, like Hudnall, had stayed on. While they had done important work in rebuilding Wizarding Britain, they hadn’t experienced the horrors of the War firsthand — and they didn’t understand it, not in the same way. Anthony didn’t recognise Hudnall’s name from any of the coverage of the Death Eater Trials, so he wasn’t sure he had even been involved in the immediate aftermath. 

How could he explain the feeling that they had failed in some way if it had only been a decade since Anthony himself had been victim to the Imperius Curse, yet there were people mucking around with it for fun? How could he explain the terror of knowing you were utterly powerless? 

But...perhaps Hudnall was right. It wasn’t even the point of the case. He couldn’t ask for an inquiry into every single thing that made his skin crawl.


	3. Althea Nettle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the abuse/rape warnings really come into play friends. If you're not up to reading a character recounting their experience of domestic abuse, just read the newspaper article at the beginning and the letters at the end and I'll summarise the middle for you in the end notes.
> 
> Also, the law mentioned in the editorial is vaaaaguely based off sections 86, 86a, 129a, 130 & 130a of the German Criminal Code. Obviously, the editorial does not represent my views (or Anthony's views) at all.

* * *

**Daily Prophet: 3 June 1999**  
---  
  
  
  


**Editorial: Anti-Muggle Violence Act is a Mistake**

_Alphonse Scunthorpe_  
  
The Wizengamot is expected to pass a bill that aims to make being a Death Eater, displaying Death Eater symbols, promoting Death Eater/pureblood-supremacist ideas or generally inciting violence towards muggles or muggleborns a crime. It’s clearly a reaction to the War, and while we all want to prevent something like it ever happening again, this new law is a mistake.  
  
We already have laws against muggle-baiting and murder. We already have crimes with which to charge the Death Eaters, as we saw last year and are still seeing as the Death Eater Trials continue. All these laws will do is muddy the waters and restrict freedoms, which sets a dangerous precedent.  
  
While I do think it should be illegal to _do_ what Death Eaters did, of course, the symbols are another matter entirely. It was not the symbols that murdered muggles and stripped muggleborns of their right to live in Wizard society. It was not the symbols that infiltrated the government. It was not the symbols that fought Harry Potter in the Battle of Hogwarts. It’s a pointless law that achieves nothing and merely erodes artistic freedoms and freedom of speech. Is any skull with a snake protruding from it a Death Eater symbol? Is the dress pattern for their distinctive robes illegal? It’s simply foolishness — it will do nothing to stop pureblood supremacy.  
  
Similarly, if we ban the promotion of Death Eater or pureblood supremacist ideas, they will merely go underground. One of the benefits of a society with free speech such as ours is that we can take the temperature of society, as it were: we can notice that pureblood supremacist ideas are gaining traction in the marketplace of ideas and take steps accordingly. If we have preemptively banned them, then we will never see them coming; we will be even weaker than before.  
  
The form this law takes, too, seems to be a pointed slap in the face to all who have held any level of anti-muggle sentiment: it is based off a muggle German law. Is adopting their laws going too far? How will we preserve Wizarding society if we lose track of what is genuinely Wizarding and what is borrowed from muggles? There are laws on the books that date back hundreds of years, with some still valid from as early as the thirteenth century. What will future Wizards think of this law? Will they mistake it for authentic Wizarding culture? Even if you do not consider this a problem, the very public adoption of a muggle law will only inflame the remaining anti-muggle sentiment still present in Wizarding society.  
  
Is the passage of this law the moment where British Wizarding society begins its slow, creeping decline into a copy of muggle Britain? Only time will tell.   
  
* * *

Neville,

Thank you for the spells and the potions. I’ll probably have to wait a few days until I can talk to Zacharias about strengthening the wards on the flat — I promise I’m not at risk, probably won’t be at all until the trial starts, if anything. It’s no longer standard to have an Auror guard, but they’re still assigned on a case-by-case basis if there’s reason to fear for the prosecutor’s safety. This lot doesn’t have any recorded ties to any known Death Eaters, and none of them have any violent priors, so unless something new comes to light I’d say I’m not even on the Auror radar.

I went to Hudnall, the Auror working the case, about some other Imperius cases I found but he brushed me off. People use it like...like a drug, I guess. They say it feels good? I guess there was part of me that felt good when I was under it — but that was also the same part of me that was casting Cruciatus on my friends, so I’m not really keen on trusting that. I just remember feeling so powerless and afraid — there’s nothing about it I would want to repeat voluntarily.

Anyway, I’ve found absolutely nothing on voluntary Imperius before 1981 — which seems weird, because what changed then? (Don’t say the obvious, I mean about the Imperius Curse.) There’s been a spike in recent cases in the last decade and I feel like I should be doing something about this somehow. I work for the government, surely I should be protecting people from exactly this kind of thing. 

Hudnall said there just weren’t the resources to look into something so minor. Maybe he’s right? It doesn’t necessarily stop me looking into it on my own time though. 

How well do you think a driftmint cutting would survive in the post? I think I could do with the sense of satisfaction of keeping something alive right now.

Ah crap, Shabbat’s coming in, I’ve gotta go. Hope your kids do well in their exams!

Anthony  


* * *

“Tea? Coffee? Biscuits?” The woman sitting before him in Interview Room Three shook her head. Althea Nettle wasn’t physically small, but she held herself as if she was trying to take up as little space as possible. Where many people her age might have opted for muggle fashions, she was wearing long grey robes. The weather was finally getting warmer and many people were discarding heavy winter robes for short sleeves but Anthony knew she still had the Dark Mark on her arm, so she couldn’t follow suit. “Would you like someone else in the room with us? I can ask the woman over there — see her in the green turban? The walls are clear so other people can see what’s going on, but they can’t hear us. Or would you rather I make the walls opaque? I want you to feel as comfortable as possible.”

Althea shook her head again, looking at the table. “No, it’s fine. I don’t — they’re not here, right?” Her eyes searched the room beyond them before flicking up to Anthony’s face and then away again.

“Roger, you mean?”

“Yeah, or — or any of them. Callum, Albert, Jimmy—”

“No one who is a known member of the Knights of Walpurgis is in the building,” Anthony said, sitting once it became clear he couldn’t do anything about how Althea was sitting curled in on herself. There was silence for a moment before Anthony said, “Ms Nettle — I want to reiterate that you’re not in trouble. I just want to talk to you about what you would be willing to say in front of the Wizengamot about the Knights of Walpurgis and your experience of the Imperius Curse at the hands of Roger Braithwaite.”

Althea nodded, looking down at the table again.

“They will be in the courtroom, but they won’t have their wands or be able to touch you. If Roger chooses to represent himself, he will be able to question you, but he won’t be able to threaten you in any way. You’ll have Auror protection until the trial concludes, and if at the end of it you have reason to think you’re still in danger, then the Aurors can work with you to alleviate those fears. It is important that you testify, though, because it’s your word and the _Prior Incantato_ that the MLE performed on his wand that makes up the proof of the Imperius charge.”

Althea nodded again, and Anthony wished she would say something.

“So, on the night of the 8th of May, you were at Roger Braithwaite’s house, correct? Who was there with you?” He had all of this written down in front of him, but a written statement was one thing — saying it out loud in front of the Wizengamot was quite another. Saying it out loud to him was at least a beginning.

“Roger, Callum, Jimmy, Albert, Geoff and Eleanor.”

“You told Auror Hudnall that this was a regular event, Thursday nights at Roger’s house. Were all those people usually there?”

“Yeah. Damien usually came, but he wasn’t there that night, dunno why.”

“You say that you weren’t the only one who received a tattoo. Was this planned, then, the tattooing?”

“Yeah, everyone there got a tattoo. Jimmy had the incantation — I don’t know where he got it, he wouldn’t say when I asked — and Albert had done a mockup of the tattoo.”

“Surely you’ve all seen photographs of real Dark Mark tattoos,” Anthony said, unable to help himself. “What you have on your arm doesn’t look like a real Dark Mark.”

Althea shrugged. “Bert did it, not me. Geoff was the one who wanted them to move. I don’t think the real ones move?”

“They don’t. The ones they cast in the sky do, but the tattoos are static.”

“I dunno what the reasons for their design choices were. I just know that Roger said Jimmy should go first, because he was the one who got the incantation so he should be the one to suffer if it fucked up. It looked like it hurt, but he held his arm out until Roger was done. And then I guess everyone else got one — Geoff did Roger — and then it was my turn and… I said I didn’t want one.”

Anthony assumed she would continue, but she didn’t. He wished she had agreed to tea or coffee, just so he would have something to do with his hands. “Why didn’t you want one?”

Althea’s hands twisted in her lap. “At first it was just, you know, laughing at muggles, at their weakness, their stupidity. They would play pranks, harmless pranks. We didn’t really _hurt_ anyone. But then they were talking about… about getting serious. Geoff said his cousin was a Death Eater, and that he could get connections. Roger thought the Dark Marks would show we were committed to it, you know?”

Anthony felt a little queasy — he knew he should ask for more details about the “pranks”, but instead he made a note to get Hudnall to follow up on it. He wasn’t meant to be uncovering new crimes, just prosecuting the ones they already knew about. “And you weren’t committed?”

She looked at him sharply but he tried to keep his face as neutral as he could make it. “We were just playing around, I was hardly going to join You-Know-Who. That was Roger’s thing, and I… I didn’t think it would go that far.”

“And what happened when you said no to the tattoo?” She had already described what happened in her statement to the Aurors, but he had to hear it himself — and he had to know she would be willing to recount it in front of the Wizengamot.

“At first they thought that I’d fold after some light teasing, and when I didn’t, Roger — he said he would break up with me. But then I made the mistake of saying I wasn’t sure about the whole thing, the whole pureblood supremacy thing, and everyone got really angry. Called me —” Althea stopped, swallowed and looked at Anthony. Anthony wasn’t sure what she wanted to find. “They called me a bunch of things, and then Roger got the idea of Imperiusing me. So he… he did.”

“Were the others in the room with you when he performed the Imperius Curse?”

“Yeah. They were all shouting suggestions for what Roger should make me do.”

“Did he make you do anything apart from the tattoo?” Anthony wished Kaur was in the room — he was sure she would know how to comfort Althea, who had brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. When she spoke, after several long moments of silence, she was looking at a spot on the floor between them.

“Nothing important. I think Roger was so het up about the tattoo that he just wanted to—” Her voice sounded strangled, as if she were fighting back tears. “I held my arm out for the tattoo, and Roger did it, and then he sent everyone else home before he took the Imperius off. He — he was acting all nice to me, kissing me and saying that we could go to the Gardens tomorrow because he knows I like them.”

Anthony revised his previous thought: he was glad there was nothing in his stomach.

“When did you go to the MLE?”

“The next morning. I dressed like I was going to work and then I went to the Ministry instead.”

“So you spent the night at Roger’s?”

“Yeah. I don’t live there, but I have a few changes of clothes and stuff.”

“Were you afraid?”

“What do you mean?”

“After he lifted the Imperius Curse. Were you afraid he would physically harm you if you acted suspiciously? Is that why you pretended to go to work?”

Althea shifted on her chair. “I — I don’t know, he’s never hurt me or anything, but I didn’t want him to get angry. It just made more sense if I pretended nothing was wrong.”

Anthony looked at his notes again. He felt exhausted, like he had spent the whole night scrubbing cauldrons by hand, but he knew it was probably worse for Althea. He had to prepare her for however long she would have to answer questions; he thought there would be some on the Wizengamot who would call for a break if she looked like she needed one, but they couldn’t rely on that being the case.

“How long have you known Roger?”

“Two and a half years. We met at the pub, he asked me out, you know how the story goes.” The Wizengamot would require her to actually tell the story, but Anthony thought she would be fine with this part — she was already slowly relaxing, now that they were no longer talking about the tattoo. 

“Was he already involved in the Knights of Walpurgis when you met?”

“I’m not sure. He started bringing me to meetings and stuff about a year into our relationship, but he could’ve been involved before that — he knew everyone already, when I first went.”

“And what were the main activities of the Knights of Walpurgis?”

Althea grew uncomfortable again. “Well, I mean, like I said, mostly small stuff? Some uh, some forbidden materials, like pro-Death Eater writing from the War, was passed around at meetings. It didn’t — it was all just talk, I swear.”

“Did you have any public demonstrations, distribute supremacist pamphlets, anything like th—”

There was a knock at the door and Anthony spun around to find Rutherford who raised his eyebrows and tapped his watch. When Anthony opened the door, he said, “Don’t you have that snidget poacher in Courtroom Three in fifteen minutes?” At Anthony’s expression of horror, he added, “I think Hawkworth’s presiding, so you’ll be fine. See you.” 

Turning back to Althea, Anthony said, “I’m really sorry, I completely forgot — if there’s anything you can think of that you need to tell me, just send an owl, alright? I promise the Ministry Post Office is secure, we have to go collect outside post ourselves. Closer to the trial I might get you to come in again so you can meet Bellinger and go over your statement again, but I think we pretty much covered it today. Do you need anything before I go?”

Althea shook her head. “No, I’ll just — leave the way I came?” 

“Yeah, the lift’ll take you to the Floo and the Apparition Points. Sorry, again, about cutting this short.” He couldn’t believe he had managed to _forget_ about the bloke who had insisted he was “helping the snidget conservation effort” by using terrible taxidermy on birds it was illegal to even handle. He was confident that they would get a conviction, but first he would have to survive Mr Blount mounting his own defence.

His day felt impossibly long.

* * *

Dear Anthony,

Don’t think I didn’t notice that you said no violent priors! Which means they absolutely do have priors. I read essays for a living, Anthony, you can’t fool me that easily. I’m sorry Hudnall’s being a dick, though — I can probably call in a few favours at the Auror Department if you want but we both know that they’d just half-arse the investigation. 

I think the difference might be that we were fighting the curse every time we were put under it — in seventh year they put me under once when I was completely exhausted at the end of a detention (I can’t even remember what they wanted me to do) and I remember feeling so light and peaceful, like nothing could ever worry me again. ~~I hope I didn’t do anything too terrible.~~ Perhaps that’s the effect people are after?

The Unforgivables were legal for Aurors to use during the First War, I think? Would that affect things? So 1981 was when there was no longer any loophole for casting it legally. Otherwise I can’t think of anything else apart from the war ending and people no longer having to fear being killed on the street. Maybe it’s got something to do with all of Voldemort’s Imperius curses failing when he died? 

I hope your Shabbat was good. My weekend involved having to console the Gryffindors after a loss to Hufflepuff — they cheered up a little when I told them that Harry Potter himself had lost a game to Hufflepuff when he was at school. The trick is not to mention the dementors’ role in that game, I’ve found. Unfortunately, it was the semi-finals, so now Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff will compete in the final next weekend. 

I’m sorry for the missing corner on this letter — I put it down in the greenhouse where I thought it was out of reach but the chomping cabbages keep finding new and inventive ways to reach places they shouldn’t be able to reach.

Have you talked to Zacharias yet? 

Yours,

Neville

  
Dear Neville,

I promise their priors are really boring. Muggle-baiting, a B&E, and two of them have done ‘inappropriate spells on a creature’ which could be anything but I’d rather not know. Thanks for the offer to call in favours but you’re right, no point.

I’ll keep those ideas about Imperius in mind — it seems odd that if it were about Voldemort’s curses failing when he died that it would pop up again now. I guess there haven’t been that many so it’s not a huge problem. Althea, at least, won’t be doing it again. 

I interviewed her on Monday and I don’t know what I expected, honestly. She did join a neo-Death Eater cult. It’s incredible what people will justify to themselves and where their line is. I certainly never expected to be working with a Death Eater sympathiser just because her ex-boyfriend is a bigger Death Eater sympathiser.

I would say I’m sorry that Gryffindor lost the match, but Ravenclaw’s in the final, so I’m not that sorry. Please keep me updated on the results of the game so I can lord it over Kaur that Slytherin came last. That said, she was so lovely to me the other week that maybe I shouldn’t.

A few weeks of term left and then we can see each other! Are you terribly swamped with marking right now?

Please don’t get eaten by the cabbage,

Anthony

P.S. I did talk to Zacharias and the wards are up. It worked out because his way of avoiding the war talk was to just agree to the extra security immediately. Miffed that our flat smelled like old socks for three days though, you didn’t mention that was a side-effect of that potion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what happened in the middle for folks who did not want to read it: Anthony met with the woman who was forcibly tattooed while under Imperius; she describes the night she received the tattoo. She also discusses her reasons for joining the group (her boyfriend, essentially) and the reasons why she did not want to commit to the tattoo (she thought the "pranks" they had pulled on muggles so far were relatively harmless and it was all playing around; tattooing an illegal symbol on your arm was not playing around). They're then interrupted because Anthony forgot he was supposed to be down in Courtroom Four dealing with a snidget-poaching case.


	4. Anneddgored

* * *

**Daily Prophet: 14-17 May 1999**  
---  
  
  
  


**Letters to the Editor**

I think Algernon Tattersham-Sywell should stop relying on a poor nineteen-year-old to solve all our problems (“Harry Potter’s Disappearance Irresponsible”, 12/5). Wasn’t beating You-Know-Who enough? I’m sure he didn’t ask for this and now he just wants to live as normal a life as possible.  
_Leave Him Alone, Swindon_

You have completely missed Algernon’s point, Leave Him Alone (Letters, 14/5)! As the person who defeated You-Know-Who, Harry Potter has a responsibility to the Wizarding community to make sure a post-You-Know-Who Britain doesn’t recreate all the same problems that led to this in the first place. He is singularly influential in the current political climate and showing strong support for something would cut through all this Ministry back-room squabbling and get things done. While he’s off sipping cocktails in Majorca, the rest of us have to live in this mess he left behind.  
_Disgusted, Tunbridge Wells_

He’s nineteen, Disgusted (Letters, 16/5)! He didn’t even have the opportunity to take his NEWTs! If he only wants to make an appearance once a year on the anniversary, then that’s his business and we should respect that. Nineteen! My son is older than that! And he still brings me his dirty washing, so he’s definitely not about to win a duel against the greatest Dark wizard the world has ever seen. Harry Potter didn’t create this mess, and he doesn’t owe us anything — we owe _him._  
_Leave Him Alone, Swindon_  
  
* * *  
  
* * *

"And _then_ , Anth, she said — she said—” 

"Zach, mate, I know you said you weren't super emotionally devastated but that vodka is disappearing very quickly for someone who isn't emotionally devastated." Anthony tried to take the bottle off Zacharias and put it on the coffee table, but Zacharias just tightened his grip. This was not how Anthony had expected to spend his Sunday night, but drunk Zacharias frequently had the impulse to clean the entire flat, so he wasn’t all that bothered by this turn of events.

“She said ‘It’s nice to see brothers who care about each other so much’!” Zacharias hiccupped and waved the bottle around distressingly close to Anthony’s head. “She said that to us, Anthony! We were holding hands! We had just snogged five minutes before!”

"Are you drinking because you broke up with your boyfriend or because you hadn't noticed that all your boyfriends look like you?" Anthony said, passing Zacharias the kebab he had abandoned in his very physical retelling of his morning. 

Zacharias had had his share of messy breakups when they were younger, but they were almost always amiable these days. Anthony suspected if he had messy breakups with everyone he dated, Zacharias would run out of people very quickly — as it was, Anthony would frequently find Zacharias’s exes at the breakfast table after a casual hookup. When he announced he had broken up with Draco Malfoy and also brought Anthony a kebab for dinner, Anthony had not expected the vodka that Zacharias didn’t even bother to pour into a glass. 

“Fuck off Goldstein,” Zacharias said, taking a bite of kebab. “I’m not sad! Draco Malfoy was a dick! A huge dick! Who also happened to have a huge dick!”

“Zacharias Smith if you tell me a single other thing about Draco Malfoy's genitals or erogenous zones, I am cutting you off and also locking you out of the flat.” Zacharias shot him a dirty look but didn’t elaborate further, for which Anthony was immeasurably grateful. He loved Zacharias very much, but there was definitely a limit to how much he was willing to hear about Draco Malfoy’s dick. 

There was a tap at the window and Anthony let the owl in, untied the letter from its leg and gave it a treat before it flapped off back into the night. 

“Wossat?” Zacharias said, mouth extremely full of kebab.

“Just a letter,” Anthony said, smiling as he read and imagined the exact tone of voice Neville would say, _I regret to inform you that your house smashed Hufflepuff by 400 points._ Neville had sent a short note earlier that week that they were drowning in work and unable to give Anthony’s letter the attention it deserved; it tickled Anthony perhaps more than was warranted that Neville thought correspondence with Anthony _deserved_ anything.

“Have you finally got yourself a main squeeze, then?” Zacharias said. Anthony would be impressed that he could leer so….convincingly with a mouth still half-full of kebab, but he was leering at Anthony, so he was not impressed at all.

“Nah, you’ve just got it on the brain. Not all of us have the urge to snog everyone we know.”

Zacharias pegged a crumpled-up napkin at his head, and Anthony ducked. “That is not what I meant and you know it, Anthony Samuel Goldstein.”

Anthony pretended not to hear him.

* * *

“Word from Level One is that we should keep this under wraps, Goldstein. We can’t avoid a full Wizengamot trial unless they plead guilty — which they’re not going to do, not when Braithwaite is up for life in Azkaban.”

Anthony knew he shouldn’t ask. He knew, and yet — “Why are we keeping it under wraps, sir?”

Bellinger raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a long moment, as if giving him time to reconsider his actions. “Imagine how this would look to the international press, Goldstein.”

“But this isn’t the first neo-Death Eater group that’s come up, it’s not even the first case of prosecuting someone under the Anti-Muggle Violence Act.”

Bellinger pursed his lips and looked, if possible, even more disappointed in him. “When was the last time the Anti-Muggle Violence Act was used?”

“Uh,” Anthony said, flipping through the pages he had put on Bellinger’s desk. “Five years ago?”

“And when did the International Confederation finally withdraw all their interference with the British Ministry?”

“... Five years ago?” Anthony was worried it was some kind of trick question, but at Bellinger’s expression, he said, trying to sound more certain, “Five years ago.”

“A neo-Death Eater aligned Unforgivable does not fit with the Ministry’s narrative of post-war recovery. We’ve barely been allowed to control our own government again. If anyone finds out about this, there might be talks of another censure or even another bloody taskforce deciding we can’t run our own country. Fuckin’ Lichtenstein or something will control us instead. Two successful coups by a Dark Wizard in fifty years? They don’t trust us to tie our own shoelaces.”

“So you… surely we can’t _lie_ to the International Confederation.” Anthony felt like he’d taken a step forward expecting it to be floorboards and instead it was Devil’s Snare; all of a sudden he felt like he was in way over his head. He wouldn’t go to the press, of course, because the _Prophet_ was mostly a rag, but… would he have to go up to Level Five and report his own boss? 

“And be in a scandal to rival the Hogwarts-Castelobruxo Swivenhodge Affair? Of course not. But we don’t have to _mention_ it. If we keep it hush hush, then no one will notice. Enough is going on elsewhere — have you seen the Balkans lately? — and the fallout from the Quidditch World Cup will work in our favour.” Bellinger shook his head. “First time Greece has ever done something useful.”

Anthony wasn’t comforted: it was exactly Britain’s history of being alarmingly easy to take over in a coup that made him certain that they wouldn’t leave the discovery of this case up to chance. The British Ministry was so certain that censure and international taskforces were things to happened to _other_ countries, ones that were bad at governing. 

He wouldn’t report it, but...he resolved that he wouldn’t lie, either. And the trial was months away — anything could happen by then.

* * *

Anthony absolutely did not forget that Neville had invited him to dinner. Kaur had asked if he could finish off the case summary she had to present tomorrow because her youngest had Scrofungulus (though she was quick to add that she’d be fine, as she had had Scrofungulus before) and — well, he forgot a little bit. But he could hardly have turned her down, even if he had remembered. 

He sent his apologies via Floogram before he was meant to be at dinner, thankfully, but he was still two hours late. Kaur already had a kid with Scrofungulus, she didn’t deserve to go into court with a shit summary as well.

When he stumbled out of the fireplace at last, he was relieved to see he had the right house — pronouncing Anneddagored correctly first go was always going to be an iffy prospect, even if he had asked Myf in the Office of Misinformation to help. Trust Harry Potter to live in the Desert of Wales.

(The house was protected by a Fidelius charm, so Ron had popped by during lunch earlier in the week to tell him where Harry lived. He still had to ask Myf about the pronunciation because Ron had opened his mouth to tell him and then reconsidered and written it down, incinerating the parchment once Anthony said he had memorised it. “My Welsh isn’t great,” Ron had admitted, pulling a face, “and I’ve floo’d into so many alarmed Welsh people’s houses that these days I just Apparate into his front garden. That won’t help you though.” Thank goodness for Myf.)

He had known that Neville lived with Harry during the summer, but he had never actually _been_ to the house in question. From Neville’s letter, he knew it was in the Cambrian Mountains, the road that ran nearby was unnamed and unpaved, and the nearest village had only a few hundred residents. Neville had also said it was quite large — Harry, Ron and Hermione all lived here more-or-less permanently, Neville during the summer, Luna whenever she wasn’t off doing… whatever it was Luna did, Ginny in the off-season… the house had a frequently-rotating, seemingly endless list of people who lived there.

The house he found himself in was clearly old — it had that indefinable _vibe_ — but it had been renovated so that the spaces inside were bright and open and airy. The Floo had spat him out of the fireplace in a large open area from which he could see the kitchen as well as the dining table. There was the sound of chattering and laughter drifting in through the open window and a brush swished quietly as it cleaned a pot by itself. 

The sound from outside got louder as a door opened while Anthony was brushing soot off his work robes, and Anthony looked up as his name was called.

“Anthony! Good to see you mate, I’ll just let Nev know you’ve arrived — they said you got caught up at work?” Ron was carrying a teapot and began to arrange teabags and put the kettle on to boil as he spoke.

“Yeah, colleague’s kid got sick, so I said I’d finish things off for her but I didn’t realise it would take as long as it did. The case law on lethifolds is… weirder than I thought it would be.” 

Ron pulled a face. “I think we did some work with the Beast Division on that one, was that the bloke who bred them and then slipped them through people’s windows? Amazing he’s still alive.”

“For now. Grimblehawk’s going to destroy him.”

Ron laughed. “I wish I could see that. When is it? Maybe I can watch and pretend it’s professional development.”

Anthony had seen Grimblehawk tear people apart before, and he couldn’t deny the appeal. “Ten o’clock, Courtroom Three.”

“Excellent. I reckon I can bribe Susan to help me clear my morning. Come on, Nev’s out here.”

Anthony followed Ron out the door and into the garden. Despite the late hour, the sun hadn’t yet begun to set and there weren’t any lights on, though Anthony could see the shimmer in the air that indicated someone had put up a barrier against the midges. There were far more people than he expected — Luna, Ginny, Hermione and Neville were all sitting on mismatched chairs around a low table where Ron put the teapot. 

Luna and Hermione were on one side of the table, engaged in a heated discussion about… gnomes? On the other, Ginny was curled up against Neville’s side, paying very little attention as Neville attempted unsuccessfully to mediate the debate. Anthony felt a warm, squirmy feeling low in his stomach when he looked at how comfortable Ginny and Neville were together and tried hard not to think about what it would be like to be sitting there in Ginny’s place. He didn’t feel jealousy, more of a soft longing – but regardless, the sudden rush of emotion caught him off guard.

Ginny, noticing his approach, nudged Neville in the side and Anthony forgot how to make any further sense of his feelings when they looked up and grave him such a wide smile that he blushed.

“Anthony! I’m glad you could make it,” they said, hugging him. There was no hesitation from Neville and Anthony leant into it. They smelled like grass after rain and earth and a light, floral scent that he couldn’t identify. He thought that he could maybe get used to this kind of casual touch from Neville, if he could first control the fluttering in his chest whenever he saw them.

Neville broke the hug and let their hands linger on Anthony’s forearms for a moment before leading him back into the kitchen saying, “We saved some dinner for you – have you eaten already?”

“No,” replied Anthony, and Neville looked back, humour dancing in their eyes. The butterflies in Anthony’s chest had migrated to his stomach.

“Good, Harry’s cooking is delicious,” Neville said as Anthony made a noise of agreement and served himself paneer butter masala, making sure he had plenty of naan to go with it. He’d not frequently had the opportunity to enjoy Harry’s culinary expertise, but there had been the occasional bring-a-plate gathering, usually in remembrance of the people they’d lost.

“Where is Harry?” Anthony asked as they moved inside to the dining room, where the plates had been cleared away but the tablecloth remained from the earlier meal. He chose a seat and tucked in, Neville sitting beside him.

“He’s off flying, I’m not sure when he’ll be back — he prefers to fly when there are lots of us to strengthen the muggle repelling charms because the last thing he wants is the Ministry to have his address, can you imagine?”

“I’m the Ministry, aren’t I? So’s Hermione — and Ron, too,” Anthony added, covering his mouth to pretend he wasn’t speaking with his mouth full.

“You know what I mean, the _Ministry_ , to have it on a public record or a file somewhere,” Neville said, waving their hand.

Anthony nodded, and then paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “Hang on, I took the Floo here. Surely that means the Ministry already has his address.”

“Nah, Percy’s head of Transportation, remember? I think you’ll find this fireplace belongs to Egbert Wafflesnout.”

Anthony snorted. “I can see the headlines now. Harry Potter, Hero of Second Wizarding War, Uses Nepotism To Falsify Official Records.”

“Too long for a headline,” Neville said. “Harry Potter: As Corrupt As Thicknesse?”

“Harry Potter Blackmails Department of Transportation, Destroys Integrity of Institution He Helped Rebuild.”

“Bloody good thing you’re a lawyer and not a journo,” Neville said, shaking their head. “It’s a headline, there’s a whole story underneath it.”

“And all your Herbology professor training put you in good stead to write excellent headlines, I’m sure,” Anthony said, rolling his eyes, but he was grinning.

“Naturally,” Neville said, waving their hand and almost spilling their tea. As Anthony laughed at the look on their face, Luna came wandering into the kitchen, stepping lightly on her toes so it almost looked like she was floating. 

“Evening, Anthony,” she said, and Anthony stood to give her a hug. Luna was like a willow tree, she was absurdly tall — taller than Neville, even — with long blonde hair that fell in loose waves down her shoulders and back.

Her hugs had the same lilting quality as her walk, she was like holding mist in cupped hands. It was nothing like the security and softness of Neville’s hug, though she was very gentle, if a bit indistinct. And her hair always got in Anthony’s face, but he didn’t mind.

“How are you, Luna?” he said, sitting back down to eat the rest of his dinner. 

“I’m well, I’ve just come back from studying the mifflewights on Sussex Downs,” she said, all matter of fact as if Anthony should know what a mifflewight was. He glanced at Neville, who shook their head minutely, and Anthony resolved it was best not to ask.

“Did it go well?” he asked, and Luna nodded happily.

“It’s why I came to talk, actually — Hermione reminded me, Neville, that I never asked you for that clipping of gilliflower.”

Anthony saw the horror dawn on Neville’s face as if in slow-motion — it would have been funny had Neville not clearly been distressed.

“Anthony, I’m so sorry — I completely forgot to water the gilliflower, I’ll be right back. Next time you should come during the day so you can see the greenhouse, it’s brilliant.” Neville ran off and Anthony watched them go until they turned a corner and went out of sight.

“Gilliflower are like catnip for mifflewights,” Luna said, and Anthony nodded as if he knew what was happening. “When you grow it outside of a very small area of Sussex, though, you need to keep it wet constantly — otherwise it never blooms. People say they don’t know why transporting the Sussex soil doesn’t work, but Daddy has quite clearly proven that it’s the influence of the gibberwobs in the air.”

Anthony couldn’t help it. “Gibberwobs?”

“Yes, they’re native to a seventeen square mile area of Sussex and die if they leave it, it’s quite tragic. Neville fancies you, you know.”

Anthony was ready to be puzzled about gibberwobs. He was even ready to receive exactly none of the information he had been looking for about gibberwobs (namely: what they were). Anthony was not ready for Luna’s last sentence and choked on his mouthful of water, coughing until he was red in the face.

“Sorry?”

“It’s obvious. They blush whenever anyone mentions you. You should write longer letters, though — Ginny gets bored of hearing the contents several times over.”

“What d’you—” Anthony said, but the sound of Neville jogging back up the corridor stopped him.

“You alright, Anthony? You’re all red,” Neville said, and Anthony prayed that Luna wouldn’t say anything.

“Some water just went down the wrong way, I’m fine,” Anthony said as Luna took the purple cutting from Neville. She stroked one of the stems very gently as if it were an animal.

“Are you here on a date?” Luna asked once she was finished greeting her new plant. Anthony felt like he went even redder, though he wasn’t sure that was possible.

“No, no, I’m — Neville just invited me to dinner, we’ve been talking about a case I’m working on that involves Death Eaters,” Anthony said, eyes flicking to Neville to see that they were as red as he was.

“Have you seen the library? There might be a book on that in there, it’s rather extensive.”

“That’s a good idea,” Neville said slowly. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Luna smiled and stroked the gilliflower again as Anthony finished his last mouthful and put his cutlery together. 

“Should I put this in the sink?” he asked, taking Neville’s empty teacup as well. 

“Oh, I can do it,” Neville said, waving their wand and the crockery flew out of Anthony’s hands and settled softly in the sink. “Let’s go look in the library, I don’t think I’ve been inside since last holidays.”

The library was not quite as large as Anthony had been expecting. It was still a sizable room, maybe fifteen feet wide, though it seemed much smaller due to the way books that wouldn’t fit onto their shelves were burgeoning out over the floor, growing into unsteady pillars, stacked precariously on top of other piles but all giving off the appearance that there was order _somewhere_ , even if it wasn’t immediately apparent.

Luna followed Anthony as he scanned the shelves. It was an eclectic collection of topics: one shelf seemed to be exclusively about the muggle miners’ strikes in the 1980s but the shelf above it was about lethifolds. _From the Flames: A New Biography of Albus Dumbledore_ by Elphias Doge was lying face down on one of the tables scattered between the shelves and Anthony was momentarily distracted, wondering why Harry would want to read it when Neville called his name.

“Anthony, this is probably worth looking at,” Neville said. They were holding up a book titled _Under My Thumb: a Comprehensive Guide to the Curses that Commandeer and Coerce_ by JS Blackhorn. “I’ve read some of Blackhorn’s stuff before, he’s probably currently the top scholar working in the defence field. He has a very deep understanding of the Dark Arts which informs his approach to defence — you should be able to find something useful in here.” 

Anthony flipped through the pages, glimpsing grim headings like _Cessius: Human Puppetry_ and _Petrificus Totalus: Cognizant Paralysis_.

“Dennis Creevey is infatuated with him, I swear,” Neville said, grinning, “if the amount of times he’s begged McGonagall to ask Blackhorn to guest lecture one of his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes is any indication.”

Luna took two more books off a shelf: _UNFORGIVABLES 101_ by Megan Caldwell and _Dark Arts Volume 13: Unforgiven_ by Natalya Alexeev. “Do these help?” she said.

“Why does Harry have so many books on the unforgivables?” Anthony said, coming closer to the shelf Luna was standing at, which was filled completely with books of similar titles.

“Oh, not every book belongs to Harry,” said Luna, “everyone who calls this house home keeps their books here. Though, Harry does like to read about the Dark Arts. He has a very impressive understanding of what it means to do bad things.” She ran her fingers lightly over the gold-embossed spine of _Cruel Intentions_ by Lester Kindfeather, smiling softly. “And what it means to survive.” 

“We all do.” Neville said. Anthony didn’t know if they meant survive the bad things done to them or survive the bad things they did, though he knew the feeling of both.

* * *

It may have been summer, but Anthony was glad for whatever warmth his thin robes could give him as dusk settled onto the Cambrian mountains. Neville was apparently sure of where they were going despite the lack of a path, picking their way between rocks and shrubs with confidence. They’d suggested going for a walk once they were done in the library, and Anthony had readily agreed — his parents always worried that he didn’t get enough fresh air.

“Almost there, promise,” they said, turning back to smile at him. “The view’s worth it.”

Anthony could see it was already worth it — he felt like he could see half of Wales from up here, the tiny towns dotting the landscape of valleys and hills. The insects were a soft hum in the background but they had already applied repelling charms so they wouldn’t be a pair of matching midge bites by the end of the night. 

“Here,” Neville said proudly, stopping and gesturing to a wooden bench that looked out over the landscape. “No idea who made it. I found it when I was out looking for dragonwort.”

“It’s lovely,” Anthony said, admiring the craftsmanship before sitting down. There weren’t any elaborate decorations but it was clearly made with skill, carefully sanded down and painted with a varnish that was cracked and peeling in places from years of weathering. 

He couldn’t help but shiver as a breeze nipped at his robes and Neville made a gesture as if to undo their cloak before they realised they weren’t wearing one. Instead, they scooted closer and put an arm around Anthony. He kept his eyes resolutely on the sunset, hoping Neville couldn’t tell how his entire brain felt consumed by the sensation of Neville’s body heat soaking through his clothing. 

The sunset, as Neville had promised, was beautiful: a cascade of purples and reds, the pink of the sky turning the mountains blue in contrast. Anthony’s thoughts kept returning to Neville’s arm curled around his shoulders and Luna’s earlier pronouncement. He couldn’t believe her, of course, because it was Luna: she was a romantic. She believed in nargles and crumple-horned snorcacks and who was to say she was right about this? She had no evidence! Even if Neville had read Ginny his letters, as Luna claimed, they were probably just asking Ginny’s opinion on the case, given she had basically been the DA’s second in command.

None of that rationalisation stopped him glancing at Neville’s face occasionally, thinking about how it would feel to kiss them. Their lips always looked so soft and the spattering of freckles on their nose, barely visible in the rapidly-approaching twilight, were so—

Neville caught him looking, and Anthony looked away, biting his lip. He was probably misinterpreting it all. A tree silhouetted against the darkening sky swayed slightly as an owl took flight from its branches, hooting softly in the dusk. He’d asked Neville for help, after all — it made sense that Neville would be interested in the case. And interested in him. Telling him about their students was probably just because they liked talking about their students, not anything deeper. 

They watched the sun go down and listened to the sounds of nocturnal creatures beginning their days, all around them. Anthony did not look at Neville again, but Neville did not remove their arm from Anthony’s shoulders. Slowly, almost unnoticed, the stars revealed themselves. There were so many more out here, far from London’s light pollution and Anthony could see the curve of the sky dipping below the mountains, now nothing more than dark shadows in the distance. 

When night fell properly and it was too dark to make out the expression on each other’s faces, they went back down the mountain. Neville held his hand, but that was just because Neville knew the best way to get down the mountain without tripping on a stray tree-root.

**Author's Note:**

> kit’s suggested title: “dicks out for a functional wizarding criminal justice system”
> 
> thank u to my cowriter, kit, for…cowriting it, coming up with the idea, etc. also to zalia, zoe, mi, regan, shreya and isobel for helping out/tolerating kit and i chatting about it in the group chat (thanks zo). Thank you also to pharnabazus, whose essay Expecto Patronum: Or How The Wizarding World Really Works was hugely formative for me. Neither of us are lawyers, so concrit is welcome, though we’re handwaving a LOT with the excuse that wizards don’t know shit.  
> hit me up on tumblr at facingthenorthwind!


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